I just looked back to see what I posted last time I wrote here and although it feels like it was in the last week or two, it was apparently April. Sorry. I write all the time in my head. Don't know why it doesn't show up here.
We did go back to Canada for just shy of four weeks and it was amazing even though I FREAKED OUT the week before we flew. "We can't come" I told my mom. "Don't be stupid" she replied. She knows me. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. Turned out I was more afraid of telling my mother we couldn't come than I was of the possibility of having to quarantine for two weeks in Neal's sister's spare bedroom. Close run thing though. As it turned out no one had to quarantine, no one got covid (or, much much worse, spread covid to all their family and friends), and we had a really lovely, well-needed visit in the homeland.
For about a month after we got back we had one of those beautiful windows of calm, contented ticking over. In my experience, when these times happen, it pays to gird your loins - you know something's coming. And sure enough, in June, our beloved landlady (may she be forever blessed) decided she was finally selling the oast. She is selling it as a tenanted property, so we may be able to still live here, but market rent, as it turns out, is a very different thing than it was when we moved in 19 years ago. Well, I thought, once I'd picked myself up off the floor, if our rent is going to double, I might as well look at other options.
So I pulled on my big girl pants and really looked into the whole housing thing, and boy oh boy they are not kidding around when they talk about the housing market crisis. I keep seeing the word "imbalanced". The word they are actually looking for (please excuse this momentary lapse into course language but there is really no alternative) is FUCKED. The housing market is totally incomparably thoroughly entirely fucked. I am really lucky - even at my age I can get a mortgage - a big one - more money than I can even imagine. We have even saved enough to cover a (very small) deposit. Phew, I thought. That's all right then. HA HA HAH HA HA HAH HAH HAH. Prices in Faversham have skyrocketed, apparently our town is very attractive to DFL's (down from London's) who fancy getting out of the city when they sell their even more outrageously priced London flat, or buying a second home for those cheeky weekend getaways. We love our town. We don't want to move away. Not as far away as we would have to move to find a house we can afford (Inverness perhaps).
It's not looking good for our plucky heroes (that's us, naturally). We'll just have to wait and see how it all pans out. Perhaps our courage and derring-do will lead us to the mythical affordable shed of our dreams - who can tell? Stay tuned!
Meanwhile there is a lot of waiting, and a lot of uncertainty. And - not to forget - (AHEM KARLY PAY ATTENTION) a lot to be grateful for. We have been so lucky in the oast for all these years - we love it and it loves us. We've had so much fun, so many delicious meals, so much laughter, so many good times with friends and family, so much music. Humphrey, our beloved greyhound, lived here. And before you ask - no, we can't buy it. It's too expensive, and it needs too much work. Expensive work. It's not for us. We are not investment buyers (!!). It's time to move on. But I really hope it finds someone who will love it as much as we do.
Wish us luck x
